


soft tissue

by CaptainRivaini



Category: Jessica Jones (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Depression, F/F, Gen, Mentions of Rape, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, honestly Kilgrave is a walking warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 06:26:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5280167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainRivaini/pseuds/CaptainRivaini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jessica was used to looking up at the peeling ceiling of her apartment and wanting to die, and tonight? Tonight was no different.</p>
<p>[Set after 1x13, so spoilers]</p>
            </blockquote>





	soft tissue

**Author's Note:**

> this is what happens when you try and write through your own crappy depression, yikes.

Jessica clicked her tongue and let the sound echo throughout her bedroom, vibrating off of the walls and hanging in the air again and again until there was nothing but that click. A click that turned more malicious each time it was heard, a click that lost its soft touch, a click that...

 

It settled into the front of her mind, reminding her she was alive and breathing. For now.

 

Two months after Kilgrave and still, and this was what shocked her the most, Jessica wanted (now more than ever) to fall each time she closed her eyes and felt that same empty 'nothingness' that clutched at her rib cage. It was like a claw, fanged with purple bone that threatened to tear at her and leave her open, a gaping wound that begged to fester and that same thought of 'ending' slipping inside, infecting the sore even worse than before.

 

Two months after Kilgrave and Jessica's nights were still full of rattling questions and the knowledge that answers were nowhere near around the corner. There was simple and utter silence with the worst part being simple: that at least with the concern of Kilgrave there had been something to concentrate on, something that had made Jessica's heart race and sweat pool at her brow, but something, anything, to distract.

 

Here, alone...Two months after Kilgrave...

 

The screaming had started up again, just like before, back when she had first stumbled into Trish's fancy apartment with bloodied hands and the name 'Reva' on her red-painted lips. But this time? It was times like this that Jessica wished she possessed hard as rock skin, all so she wouldn't need to keep grunting at Malcolm's wandering eyes whenever he saw crescent shaped marks on her arms and shoulders. It was nice of him to care, she guessed, but that didn't mean she wanted him to.

 

No matter what she had done (no matter the good) Jessica refused the care to the point that she almost genuinely believed it wasn't there. Which was fine with her, the less people that cared about her then the better off they were.

 

Luke was gone, Simpson vanished ('good fucking riddance'), Claire Temple a distraction that she didn't want to think about, Malcolm who had respected her enough to leave her be for a week or two and then there was Trish.

 

Trish had always jokingly referred to her as the 'black knight' rather than the white and of course Jessica had never argued, silently acknowledging that if there was any white knights in this damned, ugly world then Trish Walker was one of them and that was that.

 

The White Knight of Hell's Kitchen and even she Jessica rejected, holding at an arm's distance and hoping beyond hope that maybe Trish would just listen one more time and leave. Just give in, hope that Trish would see that after everything that she was never going to change, always the same distant Jessica Jones and not worth a shred of care, a shred of hope, a shred of friendship or love.

 

_("I can shred you in two, if that is what you want, darling?" Kilgrave whispered, a bite to her ear and a grin against her neck. "Anything to please you.")_

 

Jessica clicked her tongue again, sat up and pressed the nape of her neck against the crumbling wall to stare up at the ceiling, stained with patches of whiskey and the memory of Ruben's blood. It painted a picture of red and gold that Jessica was all too familiar with, unable to comprehend anything else but the intoxicating taste of banana bread washed down with cheap alcohol that still sat at the back of her throat. That was at least a warm sensation, something that settled in her chest and robbed her of a few moments of pins and needles in her head and heart, replacing it with a peace that was as fragile and delicate as being held at knife point.

 

She swallowed and immediately Jessica felt the string of white she had grasped in her hands for a moment get washed away by the current of hatred, filling her to the brim and choking her until her eyes slammed shut and she embraced the restriction of the unknown that had coiled itself around her - a snake, and she the mouse.

 

When she opened her eyes next she was greeted with the sight of a bruise, the purple and blue.

 

The Devil's colours were still there no matter where she looked and it only led to stinging eyes and bloody half moons, a volatile mixture that Jessica found could only be quietened with the tender, loving embrace of the flask she kept under her bed. Its golden contents kissed her throat and eventually tickled her brain tame, smoothing down the creases of intrusive thoughts of tearing and spreading and taking (again and again and again) until there was nothing but feeling utterly and entirely numb.

 

And then, just before the nightmares could pull her back inside their bruising embrace, Jessica heard another clicking sound of a tongue beside her and everything (everything she had ever felt) seemed calmer.

 

Her heavy, dark eyes rolled towards the blonde curls that lay on the only nice pillow Jessica had ever owned over on the other side of her bed.

 

Trish lay with her back to Jessica but it was easy to see that she wasn't asleep with how tensed her back was and the odd straightening of her legs under the covers, almost as if Trish was attempting to 'look' like she was asleep even when the both of them knew better. It was a gesture that Jessica didn't know how to respond to - didn't know _how_ she should respond to - and so she sat there for a few moments more, watching the pliant muscle of Trish's back tense and relax and then do the same thing until it looked as though Trish was about fall asleep again. It was that thought which made Jessica slowly, but surely, move to place her flask down and turn onto her side and inhale deeply through her nose in an attempt to remember how to breathe.

 

Trish did not move and relaxed again. Jessica lay as rigid as she had during those nights long ago when the confusion of control and enslavement had been a blurred line. To that extent their positions felt much like a stand-off, a comparison that did not give Jessica much comfort when she realized it.

 

And then Trish yawned and (unconsciously or not, Jessica still did not know) rolled over to her other side, an arm flapping over to smack Jessica in the face while her hand bunched Jessica's hair into its palm to slowly rub between the pads of her fingers. 

 

"Smooth, Trish." Jessica said sleepily with a grin, unsure if it was genuine and yet not caring enough to figure it out. 

 

Trish's answer came in the form of a sleeping grunt and instantly Jessica found herself relaxing, the colour of purple and blue crumbling away to the sunshine glint of Trish's hair and the yellow field of her eyelashes that fluttered with each rumbling thought that stampeded through her sleep-addled head.

 

And for once: silence was bliss.

 


End file.
